


Command Me To Be Well

by feathers_and_cigarettes



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Blasphemy, Body Worship, Daredevil Exchange 2020, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Frank's Already Hopeless, Impiety, M/M, Matt's Catching Feelings, Post Daredevil S2, Religious Undertones, This Prob Fits Better In 616, timelines what timelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:48:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26196643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathers_and_cigarettes/pseuds/feathers_and_cigarettes
Summary: It's not nearly that simple and Matt knows it. There’s nothing simple about the way Frank’s been touching him, been hanging around after sex, showing up on his rooftop with a bottle of decent whiskey. Sure, they still fight and bicker outside of the bedroom – hell, Matt’s still got the bruising along his ribs from the last time he got the drop on Frank’s intended target – but Frank’s been treating him like he’s something bigger, something important.Matt both loves it and hates it.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Comments: 35
Kudos: 145
Collections: Daredevil and Defenders Exchange 2020





	Command Me To Be Well

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ilija](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilija/gifts).



> (For the Daredevil and Defenders Exchange 2020, for [Rollinsband (tumblr)/Ilija (AO3)](http://rollinsband.tumblr.com)! Prompt: Impiety)
> 
> The fabulously talented Ilija requested some Fratt smut with an Impiety prompt - there were actually several prompts I really got a kick out of, but I'm an absolute sucker for anything with religious undertones, so here we are! Beta'd as usual by my Murder Wife, [Sevdrag](http://sevdrag.tumblr.com). Ya'll should go do yourselves a favour and go peek at Ilija's art on tumblr (linked above) - some seriously good shit!

It’s a rare occurrence that Matt Murdock feels the need to stop someone from taking his pants off. It’s even rarer that he feels like he should immediately go pray: go find Father Lantom and immediately absolve himself of his sins.

Matt’s hands tighten on Frank’s shoulders and push him back just a fraction. His nerves are singing, crying out in protest at the sudden lack of touch, and his hips automatically twitch forward, following Frank’s warmth.

Frank gives a little snort, the air vibrating around him as he shakes his head a little. His fingers continue their drift across Matt’s hipbones and toward the button of his slacks.

God, he’s gonna make Matt actually tell him to stop. Normally Matt’d assume it’s just Frank being his usual contrary self, but the focus and single-minded intensity that Frank’s showing tonight is exactly the reason Matt _needs_ him to pause, to go back to their usual semi-violence; anything to put a stop to this utter fucking _reverence_ Frank’s displaying right now.

Frank’s breath puffs against Matt’s abdomen again, making the muscles twitch and flutter. Those lips are back, determined to reach every bit of Matt’s skin and set it ablaze; strong hands cup Matt’s ass, pulling him a little closer before moving up to flatten over his lower back.

“Frank,” Matt bites out, jerking away from the _wrongness_ of Frank’s gentle touch. “Frank, stop, just give me a second here.”

Obediently, Frank’s hands drop and his weight shifts back, the warmth of his body heat fading. His pulse flickers for a second, uncertain – maybe even nervous? – before settling back to its usual steady pace. “Red?” he asks, his voice low and rough and Matt bites the inside of his cheek to resist reaching for him.

They can’t go down this path. Matt already rides too high whenever he’s with Frank – fighting or fucking – but at least sins of the flesh are something he’s used to, something he only feels marginally guilty about indulging in. Sex and violence are Matt’s weaknesses and with Frank he can sink himself into both, let himself just wallow in hedonism in a way he can’t with anyone else. Elektra was the closest, but even with her there wasn’t this level of… comfort? Security? Something else that Matt doesn’t want to think about?

Right. He’s gotta change where this is going, and fast.

With a low growl, he lashes out, grabbing Frank roughly by the chin and tilting his head back a little further.

Frank doesn’t resist, just swallows heavily as blood pulses just beneath the surface of his skin. He licks his lips and waits patiently, on his knees in a mockery of a good Christian kneeling before God.

And boy doesn’t _that_ thought send Matt into a tailspin, some dark corner of his battered ego perking up at the very implication.

“Fight me, damn you,” Matt snarls, giving Frank a little shake, his other hand gripping the back of Frank’s skull like a vice. “Where’s all that anger, Frank?”

“Time and place, Red,” Frank rasps, grunting as Matt’s hand tightens on his jaw. “This ain’t it.”

“Seemed to be last time.”

Frank’s heart rate ticks up a notch and the muscles in his neck tense. He almost fights against Matt’s pressure, but settles back down. He huffs a low breath and chuckles quietly, amused rather than mocking. “You think that was fighting? You ever have rough sex before? Don’t strike me as the strictly vanilla type, Red.”

The jab’s just enough to finally get Matt’s dick to back off a bit, his irritation finally overriding his arousal. “You fought me the entire last time we fucked,” he retorts, the memory of Frank’s teeth sinking into the meat of his shoulder as Matt fucked into him further blurring the lines of his emotions.

“I fight you out there,” Frank says, jerking his head against Matt’s grip toward the window. “You get in my way, I’ll fight you. Here? This ain’t fighting, Matt.” His voice wavers a little and the shock of it loosens Matt’s hold, allowing Frank to turn his head and brush his lips against Matt’s palm, the warmth of his breath searing against Matt’s skin.

Matt reels as Frank’s lips trail down to his wrist, sucking lightly at his pulse point. He makes a grab for Frank’s chin again and this time Frank blocks him, catching his forearm and simply resisting rather than fighting back.

“Why?” Matt bites out, twisting his arm out of Frank’s grasp and forcibly taking a step back. This was supposed to be easy and uncomplicated – a quick fuck while their blood’s up. Simple release; nothing more.

Frank sighs and Matt can hear the rasp of his stubble against his palms as he rubs his face with his hands. “My life’s constant conflict, Red. Every time I put one sonofabitch in the ground, another pops up and I’ve gotta deal with you on my ass, with the cops, with the goddamned CIA; I’m tired,” he says, his voice softer than Matt’s ever heard it. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life. I don’t want to do that again. You tell me to stop, we’ll stop right here, okay?”

It's not nearly that simple and Matt knows it. There’s nothing simple about the way Frank’s been touching him, been hanging around after sex, showing up on his rooftop with a bottle of decent whiskey. Sure, they still fight and bicker outside of the bedroom – hell, Matt’s still got the bruising along his ribs from the last time he got the drop on Frank’s intended target – but Frank’s been treating him like he’s something _bigger_ , something _important._

Matt both loves it and hates it.

He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and pulls at his belt buckle. “Just… c’mon. Let’s go,” he mutters, shoving his pants and boxers down and reaching for Frank. “Get on the bed.”

“What’s the hurry?” Frank replies, rising to his feet when Matt pulls at his bicep. He’s still cooperating – Frank’s surprisingly agreeable when it comes to sex – but Matt can feel his hesitation. The bed dips under Frank’s weight and the sound of the silk sheets against his bare skin makes Matt shiver slightly. “Red?”

“Shut up,” Matt snaps, pushing Frank’s shoulders and breathing in the rush of pheromones. They buzz around his head as he breathes in the scent of their joint arousal; intoxicating, as always. “Roll over.” The less talking, the better, it seems.

Frank’s pulse spikes for a beat. “No.”

Matt’s on the bed in an instant, caging his arms on either side of Frank’s head and grinding their hips together. He drinks in Frank’s stuttered gasp, his head swimming as he bites at the bolt of Frank’s jaw just under his ear. “We can do it like this then,” he grunts, pawing at Frank’s thigh and hiking it up around his waist. It’s not Matt’s first choice; even though he can’t see his partner, he’s always uncomfortable with fucking face to face, but he’s too keyed up to care at this point.

There’s pressure around his hip and suddenly Matt’s on his back, surprise momentarily knocking his breath from his lungs. He blinks rapidly as he tries to reorient himself. There’s a wall of heat in front of him, on top of him, distinctly Frank-shaped and familiar, but he’s never had Frank challenge him like this before. He growls a curse and tries to sit up, but Frank’s hand is a brand on his shoulder, forcing him back into the mattress.

“Relax,” Frank murmurs, his voice bouncing off the corners of the room above Matt. He settles his weight over Matt’s hips, his grip on Matt’s shoulders softening and turning from a hold to a caress. A hand ghosts down across Matt’s pectoral muscle, brushing over a nipple and down to trace the lines of Matt’s abs. “For someone who bitches at me about violence as much as you do, I’d think you’d want to just enjoy yourself.”

“That’s not…” Matt sucks in a breath as Frank takes them both in hand and strokes lightly. “That’s not what this is about.” It can’t be what this is about. Matt’s already dangerously close to being _completely_ off the rails and feeling these… _things_ … for a fucking murderer, for someone who thumbs his nose at the law and God on a regular basis.

Frank’s amused; Matt can feel it in his touch and smell the change in his scent, the fucker. His grip is loose around them, his cock blazing hot against Matt’s. “That right? Who you tryin’ to fool, Red?” Frank leans in close, leaving a wet trail of heat up Matt’s neck. “God?”

Fuck, this is going to be way too many Hail Marys. It’s a good thing Father Lantom’s used to Matt’s more lustful confessions, but he has no idea how to explain the way his heart jumps at Frank’s voice, the comfort his scent brings.

He snarls out a litany of curses, his chest heaving with exertion as he struggles to flip Frank, to try to gain some semblance of control back. “Fuck you,” he pants, warmth spreading through him at Frank’s soft chuckling.

“We can do that, yeah, but let me try this first at least?”

Frustrated in more ways than one, Matt sinks back into the mattress and glares where he assumes Frank’s face might be. He can stop this right here; that much is clear in the way Frank’s waiting patiently for his consent. The problem is, Matt’s not sure he wants to; he fucking _likes_ the way Frank makes him feel, is almost drunk on it.

_Fuck._

“Fine,” he sighs, waving a hand dismissively - not that his faux disinterest is even remotely believable, not with the way his cock’s starting to drip fluid onto his abdomen. His own body heat’s pinging off his radar, hotter even than Frank where their skin touches. “Do what you want. Take your time.”

Frank’s lips are searing against his, a maelstrom of teeth and tongue and the overwhelming scent of gunpowder and leather and coffee that’s Frank Castle. He’s smiling against Matt’s lips, that rare, lopsided grin that reminds Matt of a fucking puppy. His smile makes Matt’s heart ache, knowing just how far Frank’s come to even be able to smile like that again.

“Got all the time in the world, Red,” Frank says, his voice a guttural purr. He licks into Matt’s mouth once more, humming contentedly, before slowly pulling back and resting his forehead against Matt’s. “You don’t appreciate this enough.”

Matt raises an eyebrow and snorts as Frank bites at it. “We keep ending up naked together, so I think I appreciate it plenty.”

Large, calloused hands bury themselves in Matt’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp until he’s groaning and tilting his head back. “Naw, I mean like… shit, like no one’s ever taken their time with you,” Frank murmurs, his voice low by Matt’s left ear. “Sex shouldn’t be like that all the time. I don’t mind gettin’ my rocks off quick an’ dirty sometimes, but you don’t get an appreciation for it without taking your time.”

Matt turns his head, his breath coming quicker as Frank’s nails rake across his scalp and their cheeks rasp together. The sensations make every hair on the back of his neck stand on end and his hips twitch involuntarily. He brings his hands up to run down Frank’s scarred sides and rest on his hips, his fingertips slotting into the bruises he’d left there the other night.

“See? Now you’re starting to feel it.”

This isn’t something Matt can allow himself to feel, and fortunately, with his heightened senses, he probably won’t have to feel it for that long. He just needs to shift a little bit, twist his hips just enough…

Frank wriggles out of Matt’s grasp and pins his hips to the bed. “Why do you gotta make everything so difficult?” he grumbles. Those warm hands glide up Matt’s torso and Frank’s breath whispers across his skin as he speaks. “Just close your eyes and stop thinkin’.”

“Closing my eyes isn’t gonna do much, Frank.”

“Asshole,” Frank replies without any real rancor. “Don’t suppose you’ll willingly shut your brain off either, so I’ll do all the heavy lifting, as usual.”

Matt doesn’t get a chance to ask him what he means by that, or even to be offended at the implication, because Frank’s mouth closes around his nipple and Matt’s senses go haywire. He gasps and lets out a half-coherent curse, his fingers clenching into Frank’s flesh and his hips jerking up reflexively.

The wet heat burns across the centre of Matt’s chest, slow and deliberate and agonizing. Frank’s single-minded focus toward everything in his life has always been apparent in the bedroom, but Matt’s never experienced it with this much intensity before. Frank’s lips trail over every inch of Matt’s sternum, sucking and licking, paying close attention to every dip and scar, his teeth nibbling whenever Matt’s breath quickens.

By the time Frank makes his way over to Matt’s other nipple, Matt’s a writhing mess beneath him. His lips quirk upward as he presses soft, open mouthed kisses to the scar Nobu left, nuzzling it lightly with his nose as he moves downward. Blunt teeth catch on Matt’s nipple, wrenching a guttural cry from his throat, but the harder Matt pushes against him, the gentler Frank gets.

It’s _maddening._

“Y’know what this is, Red?”

Matt blinks, his chest heaving as he pants. He can’t quite get a sense of exactly where Frank is other than generally on top of him – his body heat is bleeding into Frank’s, his own pulse pounding in his ears and drowning out other sounds – and his skin is positively _singing_ from the sensations Frank’s touch brings. He feels like his nerves are vibrating at an almost subsonic level and it’s overwhelming.

“ _This_ is sacred,” Frank continues; either he’s oblivious to Matt’s internal blue screen of death or he simply doesn’t give a shit. “This right here. That whole ‘the body is a temple’ bullshit? It’s half right; the body’s an altar.” His nails drag down Matt’s ribcage and over his hips to his outer thighs, the palms of his hands flattening over the dense muscle and massaging gently.

Trembling slightly, Matt lets his hands fall to the mattress and clenches his fingers into the silk sheets as Frank pauses to leave a wet trail of kisses over every ridge of Matt’s abdominal muscles, his lips and tongue working with a determination that’s new and thrilling and terrifying all at the same time. The sheer reverence in Frank’s touch is alarmingly close to idolization, to… to _worship,_ and Matt’s not sure if he’s more scared of Frank’s feelings or the swell of his own ego at the thought.

He keens out a noise he’s not sure Frank can even hear as Frank’s breath puffs across the head of his dick. There’s the vibration of a low hum, the brush of Frank’s nose into the crease of Matt’s thigh and groin, the hot, wet kisses peppered over Matt’s inner thigh – everywhere but where Matt needs the most relief.

“Frank,” Matt growls, twisting his hands into the sheets so he won’t reach out and grab Frank’s head and just _put_ him right where he wants him.

Frank, predictably, ignores him. He’s as focused on tasting every inch of Matt’s body as he is when he cleans out his weaponry after a fight. Meticulous, steadfast, and intense, Frank slides his hands around Matt’s left thigh, his thumbs digging deep into the muscle and kneading until all the tension fades and Matt lets it fall, open and boneless, to the side.

The quiet words of praise kissed into his skin send Matt into a tailspin. Frank’s whispering things against Matt’s inner thigh as his hands move to the right leg, _blasphemous_ things full of so much affection and warmth that Matt needs to ground himself again, to lose himself in his litanies but he can’t remember the words. His mind swims with Frank’s barely audible _sweethearts_ and _beautifuls_ sounding far too much like prayers.

Pleasure wars with panic and guilt. He’s moving his hips in abortive little jerks, trying to find some relief for his aching cock, and finally lets his hands move to Frank, grasping wildly at his shoulders. It’s like he’s not even in control of his own actions anymore, he just moves solely on autopilot, his palm moving up Frank’s neck to come to rest on his cheek.

Pausing, Frank leans into the touch, a quiet moan escaping his throat. His stubble rasps against Matt’s hand, his lips searing brands into Matt’s palm as he kisses up to Matt’s index finger. He nips at the pad and swirls his tongue around the digit before sucking it into his mouth, the wet, obscene noises going straight to Matt’s already neglected dick.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Matt gasps, his other hand digging into the juncture of Frank’s neck and shoulder, fingers biting into the hard muscle. “Shit, Frank, what…?”

Frank abruptly pulls off the index finger and moves onto the next, sucking and bobbing his head quickly as he grabs Matt’s wrist to hold him steady. He turns Matt’s hand over, working his lips and tongue over Matt’s battered knuckles and lavishing attention over the scar tissue there. “You need to take better care of these,” he admonishes, shifting to pour his attention onto Matt’s other hand, the slight tremor to his voice betraying just how turned on he is. “Perfect weapons, for as much as you like to say otherwise.”

Matt finds Frank’s face again and trails fingers still slick with saliva across the jagged terrain of Frank’s cheek, warped and dented from countless breaks and scars. He sweeps his thumb into the deep-set socket of Frank’s eye, ghosts over the surprisingly soft lashes and over to the bridge of Frank’s nose. “They don’t have to be,” he replies, his voice equally quiet, like he has something to prove.

A shiver runs through Frank’s body and his eyes flutter shut under Matt’s light touch. He goes completely still apart from the little tremors of pleasure as Matt maps out each divot in Frank’s nose – nine, no, _ten_ breaks at least – and runs his thumb over his lips. Frank presses a kiss to the pad of Matt’s thumb, but waits patiently while Matt sits up.

All at once, Matt understands what Frank’s doing. The altar, the whispered prayers, the _worship_ ; he’s giving Matt the power here, the power to just take what he wants or to be a benevolent deity, to be the type of God Frank doesn’t believe exists. The knowledge hits Matt like a slap to the face, a heady rush of pure _need_ following quickly in its wake.

Frank Castle doesn’t believe in God, but he trusts in Matt Murdock.

Matt brings both hands up to Frank’s hair and tilts his head back enough to press a kiss to his forehead, his nails scratching lightly at the nape of Frank’s neck as he lets him go. Sinking back into the mattress, Matt lets his hands fall back to the sheets, palms up and waiting.

Fingers twine into Matt’s and Frank gives his hands a squeeze, his breath hitching slightly in his chest. He nuzzles at Matt’s cock, kissing the base and up the side of his shaft as he settles between Matt’s thighs with a satisfied groan.

The air is heavy with pheromones, the delicious mix of both their scents, and Matt sucks in a deep breath, his eyes rolling back a little as he holds that scent in like nicotine, tasting it on the back of his tongue. He’s high on it, but unlike any other drug he’s partaken in, his head is clear, his senses sharpened.

Frank’s arousal has ratcheted up as well. Heat is pouring off him in waves, his normally slow, steady heart rate beating like a drum in Matt’s ears, a bass note to their symphony of needy pants and harsh cries. A groan rips through his throat as he wraps his lips around the tip of Matt’s cock, the vibrations like an electric jolt to Matt’s sensitive flesh.

“Fuck; just like that, Frank,” Matt bites out, shallowly thrusting upward before his brain catches up and remembers that Frank’s still pretty new at this. He squeezes Frank’s hand that’s still entwined with his and rubs his other hand through Frank’s hair. “Just like that.”

There’s that spike in Frank’s heartbeat again, responsive as ever to Matt’s praise and reactions. He’s just as happy to be the devout follower, to shower his attentions on his chosen deity, as Matt is to soak in that worship. It’s probably an unhealthy balance, but Matt’s never really been one for healthy relationships.

Frank finds his rhythm, the rough praise seeming to boost his confidence. He’s more demonstrative tonight, stepping a bit more out of his comfort zone and letting his free hand roam over the base of Matt’s cock, stroke his balls, tease the sensitive skin of his perineum, and back up again. He bobs his head, increasing the suction around Matt’s dick and pressing his tongue against the underside, the constant contact quickly sending Matt spiraling higher until his whole world is buzzing.

“Shit, Red,” Frank gasps, pulling off to suck in a desperate breath, his own hips grinding into the mattress and Matt almost wants him to get off just like that: mindlessly seeking some form of relief with Matt’s cock deep in his throat.

“Keep going,” Matt demands, tempering his tone with a caress of Frank’s cheek, his thumb trailing across spit-slick lips. “Show me, Frank.”

Another shiver ripples through Frank and he sets back to work with Matt’s hand guiding him on his cheek. He sucks Matt’s cock down in slow, deep strokes, his free hand pumping what he can’t fit in his mouth in counter-rhythm, saliva escaping his lips and easing the friction.

Matt’s never felt like this, from one simple, inexpert blowjob. He can feel his muscles tensing, his toes curling into the sheets, his own breath and pulse speeding up. The mattress shifts again as Frank thrusts down against it and Matt takes a deep breath, tasting his arousal, the faint tang of pre-come soaking into his sheets.

It’s too much, complete sensory overload. Matt’s senses go into overdrive and temporarily short circuit as he comes down Frank’s throat with a punched-out cry, his orgasm battering him in waves.

Frank’s learned Matt’s limits by now, holding still and swallowing as much as he can before releasing Matt’s cock with a jagged cough. He reeks of Matt’s scent and it’s enough to send another jolt of arousal through Matt’s raw nerve endings.

Matt reaches for him, clawing at broad shoulders. “C’mere,” he orders, _needing_ to taste himself on Frank’s tongue, to feel that damp mouth working against his.

He manages to miss Frank’s mouth entirely, biting at his stubbled chin and groaning as he tastes the mix of come and saliva on Frank’s skin. Bringing both hands up to hold Frank in place, he attacks the man’s mouth, making these quiet, animalistic noises as Frank makes a strangled sound at the back of his throat and palms his own neglected cock.

“Come for me,” Matt growls into Frank’s mouth, drunk on the pheromones and the frantic beat of Frank’s heart. He can feel the blood warm beneath the surface of their skin, the tightening of each muscle group in Frank’s body as he works himself to completion.

Frank comes with Matt’s name like a prayer on his lips. Hot liquid burns into Matt’s skin, painting his abs and further mixing their scents together. Frank’s shuddering in Matt’s grasp, sinking forward with his head bowed, soft little grunts escaping his throat with every exhale. He buries his face in Matt’s neck and kisses him gently, almost as if he’s afraid Matt’ll push him away.

They breathe together – Frank still half kneeling on Matt, his face pressed into Matt’s throat, and Matt twitching with adrenaline, his hands carding through Frank’s hair and scratching lightly down his back. It’s a new thing, one that Matt hasn’t realized Frank _craves_. Frank needs to worship and be validated, needs to have his devotion acknowledged and appreciated. Their previous fuck-and-runs have left the air sour and prickly and maybe this is what Matt needs too.

“You okay?” Frank’s voice is hoarse against Matt’s skin. He pulls back a little, still a little unsteady, sighing in relief when Matt pulls him close again and lays them both down.

“Feeling a little blasphemous, if we’re being honest,” Matt admits, hissing at the burn in his abdominal muscles as he stretches out on the bed. He cranes his neck to absently bury his nose in Frank’s hair. “You?”

Frank snorts a laugh, his hand tracing the scars on Matt’s chest. “Good. Real good. Not everything needs to be a fight.”

Matt raises an eyebrow and shoves Frank’s shoulder. “Do you realize the irony of that statement coming from you?”

“S’true. I meant everything I said, Matt. This,” the air shifts as he waves a hand, “is different from out there.”

There’s a long silence – not unusual from Frank, but Matt’s not used to the emotions weighing heavily in the air, to having a semi-conversation with the Punisher that doesn’t involve sex or snark. He turns his head away, needing Frank’s scent out of his nose to think clearly, to not give into the desire to just roll them both over and lose himself in Frank once more.

Frank presses a long, gentle kiss to Matt’s cheek and carefully extricates himself. The sheets rustle as he slides off the bed, his tread heavy and familiar as he pads across the room.

“You’re not staying?” Matt’s not sure why he’s surprised; Frank’s never stayed before and has no reason to start now. What _does_ surprise him is how much he _wants_ Frank to stay.

“Nah,” Frank’s voice drifts from near the sliding door, his belt buckle clinking as he picks up his jeans. “Got to go beat Turk up a bit later and I’ve gotta clean up before then.”

Matt briefly wonders if Turk’ll notice the bruises he’s likely left peppered into Frank’s skin, wonders if he’ll have any inkling that it’s the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen who left them there. “You don’t want to relax for a little bit longer? All that talk about sex being sacred and you’re ready to jump back into your war?”

Frank laughs, making Matt lean instinctively toward the sound. Shoelaces whisper against leather and Frank’s boots thump against the hardwood, the faint metallic odor of blood mixing with the heavy scent of sex in the air. “Separate things, Red,” he replies as he walks back toward the bed.

The mattress dips as Frank leans down to brace his hand on it. Warm lips brush over Matt’s briefly – too briefly – and calloused fingers brush Matt’s hair off his forehead. “You ain’t ready for me to stay yet,” he murmurs, his fingers lingering on Matt’s cheek before he straightens.

“What if I want you to?” Matt asks before he can stop himself, uncertain if he actually wants Frank to or if he’s still drunk on hormones.

The bedroom door slides open before Frank answers. “You don’t. But I’ll wait until you do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr!](http://feathers-and-cigarettes.tumblr.com)


End file.
